


Rushing Wind

by maychorian



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 22:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maychorian/pseuds/maychorian
Summary: Obi-Wan is a brand-new Master, very young and uncertain of his path. Anakin is a brand-new Padawan with no idea of what to expect or how to behave. Everything is a first for them.Originally posted to ff.n on 06-12-05.





	Rushing Wind

**Author's Note:**

> A series of firsts.

**1: The Empty Rooms**

These rooms were usually empty of late. The two men who lived here were often gone, so much so that one could hardly say they lived here at all anymore, only visited upon a time, as a man grown from would visit old childhood haunts, reminiscing over bygone adventures, laughing and shaking his head at childhood treasures, passions, and fears long left by the wayside.

In cool afternoons a small droid would enter the rooms, watering the many well-loved plants strewn about, clearing away any dust that had dared to settle on the few cherished bits of memory scattered on plain-hewn shelves, and straightening once more bedclothes that had not been disturbed since the droid's last arrival. Otherwise, only light visited, entering the large picture window in an almost solid box of luminescence, angling down the wall and softening in the end to dusty twilight. Peace reigned here, a tranquil, patient waiting for the return of the two who filled this small space near to bursting with light and life. Their presence lingered even now, despite the lightyears that separated the men from their comfortable home.

One fateful day, the light seemed to enter more darkly than was its wont, hesitant, unsure of its welcome. The bright green (and purple) leaves of many of the plants seemed to fade and wilt. Perhaps they felt the difference through some strange osmosis of the Force, and knew that one of the beings who filled this place with warmth and wisdom was not going to return. Never again would a broad shoulder lean against that doorway, a wide, rough palm pass gently over the back of the broken armchair, a deep, smiling voice encourage the plants to dig their roots deep into the soil, their twining branches to stretch for the sun.

Soon after this, there was a change, and the long-empty rooms were empty no longer.

X

The child entered hesitantly, open curiosity in his round face, his bright blue eyes. He stood in the middle of the common room and tried to take in everything at once. His fingers danced as if already eager to find some mischief, and if the plants could have shrunk away from him, they would have.

Oddly, the young man entered with a bit of hesitation as well, though he had been here too many times to count. He glanced around with a mixture of hopefulness and sorrow, as if part of him expected a familiar figure to approach from the kitchen or the back bedroom, his hands out in greeting, but another part of him knew that that would never be. Something was missing from him—the braid at his shoulder was gone, and seemed to have taken some of the childlike luster of his spirit with it. He was no longer a youngster, this one.

"Wow." The child flitted from one side of the room to the other, staring at the strange plants, the bits of memorabilia. "We live here? My whole house back on Tatooine could fit in here two times! Do all Jedi have such big rooms?"

The young man smiled, though the shadows under his eyes made it look weary and sad. "Not all. Just Masters and Padawans. If Master Qui-Gon hadn't been living here just a week ago, you and I would probably have much smaller quarters. But this was easiest."

The little boy stopped moving to look up at his Master with wide blue eyes, eyes that had seen more than most, and still did. "It isn't easiest for you. I bet you'd rather be somewhere else now."

Obi-Wan pressed his thumb and forefinger against his eyes, rubbing gently. "I'll be all right, Anakin."

The child stared at him for a moment longer, then seemed to take him at his word. He rushed down the hall, yelling, "Which room is mine?"

"The first on the left!" Obi-Wan called. "And don't run in the Temple!"

Obi-Wan walked slowly to the middle of the room and turned around, looking at everything just as Anakin had, though with different eyes. Then he sank down to sit on the edge of the couch, not letting himself lounge back against the familiar lumps and bulges. His shoulders were hunched and his arms rested on his thighs, hands hanging loosely between his knees. Memories played behind his eyes—this could be seen in the occasional glints and flashes in the blue-green depths, though the still expression betrayed nothing of their contents.

"Hey! Do you know what this is?"

Obi-Wan looked up to find Anakin standing in front of him, holding a box so large that his arms barely stretched around it, small hands holding tightly to the front corners. The young Master quickly leaned forward and took the box. He grunted and set it on the floor.

"Blast, that's heavy!"

Anakin shrugged. "I've carried lots of heavier stuff."

Obi-Wan looked at his Padawan for a moment, the small crease between his eyes deepening. Then he shook it off and looked back at the box. "Where did you find this?"

"In the back of the closet in my room. The room's all empty right now, 'cept a bed and a desk and that box."

"Ah, yes. Bant told me that she and Reeft had moved all my things to the master room. She also said she had packed away Master Qui-Gon's possessions so I could go through them when I'm ready." He was silent for a moment, just staring out the window at the air traffic flowing by. "I have good friends," he added quietly.

Anakin shifted where he sat. "So what's this box, huh?" he prompted.

Obi-Wan blinked. He saw the boy twitch, saw how hard he was trying to rein in his impatience, and offered a smile that glinted with the old boyish mischief that had always been his trademark, though seasoned now with his new burdens and concerns. "Well, let's find out, shall we?"

Anakin leaned forward, watching avidly as Obi-Wan broke the seal and pulled off the top.

"Oh! I'd forgotten about these."

The expressive blue eyes sparkled with delight as Obi-Wan lifted out a small model spaceship, still attached to the filament that had once hung it from a ceiling.

"A Verpine fighter! Can I see it?" Anakin held out his hands as if in supplication.

Obi-Wan glanced at him, and the mischievous grin intensified. "I don't know. Can you?"

Anakin bounced up and down. "I mean, can I hold it? May I?"

The Master's smile softened. "Certainly." He handed over his old childhood treasure. "I made these when I was ten, eleven, twelve—until I started building my lightsaber. After that I lost interest, I suppose, though they hung from my ceiling until my twenty-first nameday. Then I decided I was too old. I hadn't realized until now that I actually missed them, in the way that you feel an absence, but can't remember what it is that you miss."

Anakin looked up from his careful scrutiny of the model, his hand tightening reflexively around the metal hull. "Do you want them back?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "No, I guess not. It's time for me to put away childhood pursuits for good. After all, I am a Master now."

He reached out as if to ruffle Anakin's hair, but the boy leaned back, evading his hand.

Obi-Wan drew back, the crease between his eyebrows deepening again. Again he shook it off. "You may have the models."

Anakin grinned, just a little sheepishly. "Thanks . . . Master."

"You're welcome, Padawan. Your room may be empty now, but I have no doubt that you'll soon have it filled with little odds and ends that will make the place your own." Obi-Wan looked thoughtfully around the room, his gaze pausing at the gaps in the plain-hewn shelves where objects had been removed by a gentle Calamarian hand. "These rooms have been empty for a long time—Master Qui-Gon and I were rarely here during the past few years. But I do believe I smell a change in the wind."

Anakin jumped to his feet and ran back to his room, holding out the model in his hand and making very credible Verpine fighter noises. "Come help me hang them up! You're lots taller than me!"

Obi-Wan sighed again, but hauled himself to his feet readily enough. "I'm coming. And don't run in the Temple!"

* * *

**Chapter 2: To Be in This Moment**

* * *

**2: To Be in This Moment**

"Can we eat at home tonight? May we? Huh?"

Obi-Wan looked down at the little boy at his side, walking quickly to keep up, sometimes skipping for a step or two. Sometimes he tried to remind the brand-new Padawan to walk two steps behind and to the side, to move with dignity and calm, but it never quite seemed to sink in. And it wasn't really important, just for a casual walk through the Temple. The young master offered a small smile, amused despite himself.

"Tired of the food in the refectory already? I hope you aren't under any illusions that my cooking is better. It isn't."

Anakin shook his head. "No, I'm not tired of the food . . ."

He didn't elaborate, but Obi-Wan thought he understood. Anakin was tired of the sheer size of the dining hall, tired of the constant struggle to find a place to sit, to make conversation with young initiates and Padawans who already had established friendships. He was tired of all the looks, curiosity or skepticism or awe or some hidden emotion, the countless eyes aimed at the sandy-haired boy from Tatooine, the maverick master's final project, the apprentice of the first knight to kill a Sith in a millennium, the child who carried so many rumors with him wherever he went that it seemed a miracle that the young shoulders weren't bowed and hunched beneath the invisible burden.

"So could we eat in our quarters tonight?" Anakin asked again, interrupting himself. He looked up at Obi-Wan, and oh, the bright blue eyes were so very hopeful.

"Certainly," the older Jedi replied, and was a bit surprised to hear the gentleness in his voice. "We'll just stop by stores and pick up something I can make with a relatively large probability of success."

"I can help!" Anakin grinned, skipping again. "I helped Mom cook all the time."

Obi-Wan shook his head gently, but did not rebuke his apprentice. In time Anakin would build new memories of his life here on Coruscant, grow new connections with the Jedi who were now his family, his home. Eventually these constant references to his old life would fade and vanish, and the master would finally know that his young charge had found his place. Obi-Wan was willing to wait. If nothing else, this little learner certainly was teaching him patience.

They chose a simple meal, in the end—grilled sandwiches with seasoned tuber wedges, fior beans on the side, and pre-made snowberry cakes for dessert. A couple of the sandwiches were too black on one side and too light on the other, but the tuber wedges were excellent, Anakin having shaken them in the seasoning mixture with such vigor that Obi-Wan had to stand on his tip-toes to clean reddish spatters off the ceiling. Anakin just giggled and jumped off the counter, holding the spatula like a small, stiff flag, and the master couldn't help but grin.

It had been a long time since he had grinned. Truly grinned, with teeth showing and heart full, not merely smiled, with lips closed and mind distant. The first was an expression of the moment—the second still lived in the past.

It was good to be in the moment. It was a good moment.

At last they sat at the table, Anakin chomping his food with the ravenous delight of all growing boys, Obi-Wan eating with a bit more deliberation, but no less pleasure.

"Eat your vegetables, Padawan," he said, and shook his head when the boy made a face and turned those bright blue eyes to plead for clemency. "Don't try that innocent look with me. I'll bet it never worked on your mother. Fior beans are very good." He took a large bite in demonstration. "Mmm. Yummy."

Anakin's little face twisted in doubt. "Yeah, right. Don't try that 'mmm, yummy' face on me. I'll bet it never worked for your master."

Obi-Wan grinned again, and came as close to laughing as he had for what had to be countless ages. The laugh didn't quite come out, though—it stirred in his chest, then settled back when his eye fell on the window. For a moment he watched the familiar air traffic streaming by, the soft red light of sunset gleaming off shining metal.

Without meaning to, his mind slipped back to other quiet dinners eaten at this table. Obi-Wan was nearly always tired during those—eating here instead of in the refectory usually meant that they had just returned from another stressful mission, or Obi-Wan had simply dragged himself back here after an exhausting training session and couldn't find the energy to leave. A time or two Obi-Wan had even fallen asleep with his head on the table, and woke in his own bed, the covers tucked carefully around his shoulders. The peace and comfort of those wakings was enough to overcome his embarrassment at dozing off over his meal, though each time he vowed that he would never do it again.

Obi-Wan tried not to remember, he truly did. He knew that it was selfish, that he owed his attention to the boy who occupied his here and now. Anakin deserved a master who lived in the moment, not one who was constantly slipping off into his own mind. It wasn't fair of Obi-Wan to absent himself like this. With a painful wrench, he dragged his eyes back to the little boy who sat across the table, studying him with a curious solemnity, still chewing his last bite of sandwich.

"Are you sad?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan blinked, and could not answer. He had no way to put this into words, to explain that it wasn't so much sorrow as it was _absence._ He wasn't sure that words even existed.

Once, when Obi-Wan had still been an initiate, he had been alarmed to realize that one of his front teeth was wobbling, that he could move it with his fingers. He had shown it to his friends, who assured him that this was normal, though he didn't quite believe them. Garen, in an attempt to be helpful, reached over, grabbed the tooth, and pulled it out with one sharp jerk. Obi-Wan had stared at the little piece of white bone on his friend's palm, the pale flush of red at the root, and fought a strange swirl of nausea.

It wasn't the sharp pain that had shocked him so much as the sudden sense of something being missing. That little thing in Garen's hand had been a part of him, and now it was gone. He explored the gap with his tongue, tasting the thick, salty rush of blood, and fought the urge to yell at Garen to put it back, to restore his mouth to the way it ought to be. Even then, he knew that that could not happen. In one, blistered moment of surprise, he had been irrevocably changed.

This was the same, but infinitely worse. Instead of receiving a larger, stronger tooth in exchange for a small, blunt one, he was trying to replace his immensely strong, always-there master with this open-faced, sparkly-eyed child of the desert. It just didn't fit. But it was what he was supposed to do, wasn't it?

"You look sad," Anakin went on, nervously filling the silence. "Your eyes got all far-away and dark, like my mom's used to sometimes when she was looking at me, and I knew she was thinking that I would always be a slave, always stuck on Tatooine working so that other sentients could make money. But you don't have to be sad for me—I'm gonna be a Jedi now, because of you. Because Master Qui-Gon made it happen . . . ."

He paused, then tilted his head, as if the new perspective would help him understand his still-silent master. "Are you sad because of Master Qui-Gon?"

"I'm sorry, Anakin," Obi-Wan choked out after another aching moment of strained silence. "I'm not sad, not really. I just . . ."

The child nodded in grave understanding, popping another wedge into his mouth, his short legs swinging under the table. "You miss him. I miss my mom, you know."

"I know," Obi-Wan said softly, and fell silent.

No, replacing one with the other would never work. It didn't fit at all. They would have to make something new between them, just as Anakin would have to make a new life here. It hadn't been going all that well, so far. But they had time.

After all, each moment was followed by another one.

And all were brimming with possibility.

"It's all right," Anakin said. He lifted a fior bean on his utensil and looked at it skeptically, then stuck it into his mouth. His face opened in obvious surprise. "Hey! Fior beans _are_ good!"

And at last, the laughter that had stirred in Obi-Wan's chest found its way out of his mouth, with a sweetness and ease and shocked and pleased him. "I told you. And we still have snowberry cakes."

Anakin grinned, and kicked his legs a little harder.

The moment was very good indeed.

* * *

**Chapter 3: How a Jedi Carries It**

* * *

**3: How a Jedi Carries It**

"Again."

Anakin paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. He didn't like this Padawan haircut, the silly-looking puff of spiky hair around his head, but it did have the slight advantage of not being long enough to get in his eyes. That was something to be grateful for.

His master gasped. "Anakin! Be careful with that!"

The boy lowered his arm in confusion, and only then realized that he'd been rubbing his forehead with the same limb that held his ignited lightsaber. He hadn't even heard it sizzling dangerously close to his ear. Weird. But then, he was still gasping for breath, trying to recuperate from the tiring workout he'd just completed. He stared at the glowing blue blade in mild surprise.

Obi-Wan crossed the small space separating them in two long strides and pulled the 'saber from his hand, immediately turning it off. "Anakin! You could have cut your head off!"

Anakin blinked up at him. Obi-Wan looked really upset, like his mom did after that race when he almost crashed into the canyon wall. (Well, to be fair, he _had_ crashed into the wall. But only a little.) It wasn't that big of a deal, was it? "I'm sorry. I forgot I wasn't using the bokken anymore."

The young master looked scandalized. "That's why you're supposed to treat the bokken with the same care that you do a lightsaber—so you get used to it without endangering yourself." He sighed shortly, pursing his lips as he studied his young student. "Maybe this is too soon. Maybe we should go back to the wooden sword for a while longer."

Anakin felt his eyes widen to the size of speeder headlamps. "Oh, no, please. I'll be more careful. I promise." This was the first time Obi-Wan had let him use a lightsaber, even a very low-power one. All the other Padawans had been using real 'sabers for ages and ages.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Obi-Wan said, correctly reading the reason for his apprentice's reluctance to go back. He bent to one knee to look more closely into the boy's face. "Even Masters use bokkens sometimes."

"But only for special katas and some practices. Not for sparring." What did Obi-Wan want from him? Perfection?

"Anakin . . ." Obi-Wan's bluish-greenish eyes stared back at him for awhile, darting minutely back and forth. The boy held himself straight and steady, willing his master to find whatever he was looking for.

Apparently it wasn't there. The older Jedi released a soft, short sigh through his nose, his lips still closed in disapproval or—worse—disappointment. Anakin's shoulders slumped. "Please don't make me go back. Bokkens are for . . ." He lowered his voice, knowing that this was bordering on disrespect. ". . . babies."

"No, bokkens are not for babies." Yes, that was definitely disapproval in that cultured Coruscanti voice. "I use a bokken for certain katas, and I'm not a baby."

Anakin raised his head, a faint tendril of hope curling through him, sweet but hesitant. "Could . . . could you show me?"

Obi-Wan blinked, taken aback for moment. "Show you? Well, I suppose so."

"Would you please? Show me a kata with a bokken."

The master leaned back on his heels, still blinking. "All right. One moment."

He stood smoothly and moved to the side of the salle, then set Anakin's training 'saber on his carefully-folded cloak, already resting on a bench there. He shook himself out briefly, then took a bokken down from the wall, a slender length of polished wood, dark and innocuous, but as soon as it entered his hand, it became deadly. And suddenly Anakin understood that wooden swords could be just as important as lightsabers. It was all in how a Jedi carried it, and carried himself.

Obi-Wan stepped slowly to the middle of the salle and closed his eyes for a moment, settling into a guard position. The hairs on Anakin's neck prickled, and he felt the currents move around the man, then come to rest, completely still but thrumming with readiness, the silent energy of a boulder poised to fall or a river chained only barely behind a leaking dam. Obi-Wan made it look so easy. Anakin knew it was anything but.

The blue-green eyes opened, and a pleasant smile curved the lips that were usually so still and quiet. "This is the Falling Water kata, Anakin. You will learn it someday, so pay attention."

He lifted the bokken in a slow, smooth glide, his limbs moving in perfect concert, body in tune to a harmony Anakin could not yet hear. Gracefully he swept through one step and into other, move after move, full of grace, empty of effort. On and on the kata went, and Anakin watched, dazzled, and saw falling water, rivers, cascades, fountains, whirpools in gasping seas, tinkling and roaring and gently drifting down to cover him in a cool, refreshing mist.

It was joy and peace, power and silence, hyperspatial speed and utter stillness. Without trying, without speaking, Obi-Wan made him see the strength in patience and the kindness in a deed done at the correct moment. And still the water flowed and fell, an endless subsumation of will, a burying of self in the infinite control of the Force.

And only this did Anakin rebel at. Obi-Wan gave himself without thought, without tremor, immersing himself in a larger control. He had done so all his life, and it did not trouble him to lose the threads of his will in the tapestry of a larger whole. Anakin could not imagine such innocent trust. He could not imagine ever losing himself, knowing without question that he would come back when the time was right—it simply wasn't in him, not yet anyway.

This was what it was to be a Jedi, and so he would learn how to do it. But oh, the task was going to be long and difficult.

He remembered the words that were spoken not so very long ago, though it seemed an age since he had heard that rich, kind voice. _It will be a hard life. But you will find out who you are._

He hoped it was true. _I hope I don't let you down, Master Qui-Gon._

Obi-Wan finished the kata and held the last position for several moments, his eyes closed, bokken held in a high guard position. His chest moved sedately, and he had barely broken a sweat. He seemed entirely unaware of the fact that he had finished, and that there were eyes on him—not only those of his Padawan, but those of several Jedi who had been passing through the salle on some business or another, and paused to watch a Master at work.

And he truly was, Anakin realized with a gentle shiver. This man was a Jedi Master, not only because he had taken a Padawan the very moment he was knighted, but because he was. He lived in the Force just as strongly and securely as Master Qui-Gon ever had, only in a more subtle way. Less visible, but just as all-encompassing.

Anakin approached cautiously, and was only a little surprised to hear himself whisper. "Master Obi-Wan, sir?"

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and slowly lowered the bokken. "You don't have to call me 'sir.' Just 'Master' will do."

The boy nodded jerkily. "Yeah. But that was . . . that was _wizard."_

Again the soft, gentle smile, faintly amazed. "It's a common kata. Any knight or master or senior Padawan could demonstrate it for you."

"Not like you." Anakin shook his head adamantly. "That was something special. I betcha none of the other Jedi can do it like that."

"Of course they can." Obi-Wan scoffed, very gently. He was not rebuking Anakin, the boy understood. He simply didn't realize how amazing it was.

He didn't realize how amazing _he_ was. Anakin quit trying to convince him. He could see it wasn't going to do any good, but he wished he had the words to explain what he felt, what he knew.

Anakin remembered being very little, before he and his mother had been gambled away to Watto. He had always been aware of something extra in the world around him, something that showed him things beyond sight, whispered secrets outside of hearing. For a time he believed that everyone felt the same thing. But he quickly learned that this was not so, that he was set apart. That he would always be set apart, different from everyone around him. It was both lonely and uplifting. He still hadn't escaped that, even here in the Jedi Temple. He was always separate.

Obi-Wan, he saw, did not feel that. The older Jedi had grown up surrounded by people who sensed the Force, and it had never been strange to him. And so he didn't realize, he didn't see, that even in an Order full of incredible people, he was even more incredible. And he would never believe that of himself.

Anakin shook his head, and held out his hand for the bokken. Obi-Wan gave it to him willingly. "Will you teach me that kata soon? Huh?"

The young master smiled. "Not so hostile against bokkens anymore, are you?"

Anakin shook his head. "Nope. So when can I learn that one?"

"You have a way to go yet before you'll be ready for Falling Water. But I have no doubt that you'll arrive soon." Obi-Wan reached out to ruffle his hair, and this time Anakin let him. "You have the aptitude, Padawan. You just need a little patience and perseverance, and you'll reach all of your goals in due time."

"I can be patient." Anakin bounced from foot to foot. "Can we start now? Please?"

Obi-Wan laughed, a rich, genuine chuckle that burst from deep in his chest to fill the salle with delighted peals. "Yes, yes. We can start now."


End file.
